


Sweet

by justanotherbusyfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2019-09-05 07:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16805977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherbusyfangirl/pseuds/justanotherbusyfangirl
Summary: The reader is tired of the handsome stranger coming in to her bakery and not buying anything, so she decides to do something about it, or him.





	Sweet

You were busy with the morning rush of regulars and visitors when the bell on the front door gave a jingle. Boxing up some muffins, you glanced at the door, smiled, and shouted a “Welcome to Y/N’s,” to the handsome man standing there.

He was wearing jeans and boots, an army green jacket over a red plaid shirt. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as he looked around the shop, eyes moving from you to roam your display of baked goods. He took a deep breath, shoulders rising with the flow of air into his body.

You were pressing buttons on the register when you heard the bell jingle again, and you watched through the window as the man got in a black car and drove away.

* * *

Your hands were full piping icing onto an order of birthday cupcakes when your bell jingled. You turned to look at the new customer, meeting the eyes of the handsome man from the day before, taking a deep breath.

“Hey, welcome to Y/N’s,” you said friendly. “I’ll be right with you.”

You finished the cupcake you were working on and turned, only to see that the man had disappeared out the door again, and was already crossing the street.

* * *

Your employee Marcie didn’t seem to believe you about the cute stranger who had come into the store until the next day. 

You were re-arranging the pies in the display, window open as you moved the delicious treats from a cart to the display case. Marcie was behind the counter helping a few customers make their choices for the day.

The bell jingled behind you, and once again the stranger walked in. You motioned with your eyebrows to Marcie, indicating silently that this was the guy.

“Hey there,” you said to him, pie in hand. “How are you today?”

The man looked at you, green eyes seeming to look directly into your soul. He then glanced down at the apple pie in your hand, a pleasant look gracing his face. He took a step toward you before taking a deep breath of the pie.

You watched him carefully, trying to decide what to do. Before you could say another word, he about faced and hurried out the door, bell jingling behind him.

Behind the counter, Marcie let out a full-belly laugh at the whole situation, shocked that you hadn’t been lying about the man.

* * *

This went on for another few days: man walks in, you say hello, man takes a deep breath, man walks out.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was deaf or mute, as he never responded to any of your pleasantries, even after he met your eyes. It was strange, but also oddly endearing. He obviously had a reason for coming to your shop, and he wasn’t hurting anyone or anything, so you didn’t have the heart to stop him.

But it was getting awfully weird.

Marcie thought the whole thing was hilarious, and each day made up a new anecdote for why the man came in. Maybe his car broke down, and he was looking for a payphone. Maybe his dog had run away, and he was seeing if she ran into the bakery. Maybe he really wanted something to eat, but he couldn’t have sugar. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

It also didn’t help that he was incredibly dreamy, and you started looking forward to the times when he’d slip through the door, if only to get another glimpse at his bowlegs, scruffy cheeks, and deep green eyes.

You started to notice which of your sweets and treats he would look at – at first you thought that he merely glanced and you and then around the room, but soon enough you noticed that his eyes always landed on your most recently baked pie. It was as if he was drawn to them, and as a baker, you knew that look. The I-Gotta-Have-That-Pie look.

So you made a plan.

You thought back to each day that the man came in, figuring out if there was a pattern on his timing. You estimated that he’d usually stop sometime between 8:45 and 9:15, and once you realized that, you formulated your strategy.

At 8:35 the next morning, you had a plate ready to go. On the plate were four different types of pie: apple, blueberry, chocolate, and pecan. Your four best-selling pies, the most delicious ones you could make, freshly out of the oven. A dollop of whipped cream topped each one, beautifully curled.

You put the pie plate on a table right next to the door, turning to busy yourself with re-filling the sugar buckets (as you couldn’t bear to think of just standing still and doing nothing in your shop). Marcie giggled at you from behind the counter, but busied herself with the customers at hand.

Finally, at 8:56, the bell jingled. 

You watched as the man took a few steps into your shop, eyeing the display cases. Silently, you picked up your plate of pies and planted yourself between the man and the door, so that he would have no option but to see you.

You watched from behind as his shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, unable to help yourself from looking him up and down. Damn, those bowlegs were sexy.

He began to turn, and you stood up as straight and tall as you could, which really only made you come up to his shoulder.

Upon seeing you right there, literally half a step away from him, he started a bit. You gave him your sweetest smile.

“Every morning you walk in to my bakery, take a deep breath, then walk back out,” you said, a twinkle in your eye. “Ain’t it about time you had a bite of my award-winning pie you’ve been eyeing?”

You held your breath as you waited for a response, watching the man look from you to the plate of pie. Your eyes followed his tongue as it left his mouth to lick his lips and you nearly groaned at the action.

Instead, you pulled a fork out of your apron pocket, holding it out to him.

He looked back at you, the right side of his mouth cocking up in amusement. One of his hands reached up to take the fork from you, and his calloused fingers brushed your soft ones. You moved to hold the plate in both hands, watching as he got the tip of the apple pie onto the fork, brushing some whipped cream on the bite as well.

His eyes locked with yours as he brought the treat to his mouth, and you were mesmerized as his lips closed around it. His eyes closed as he groaned around the bite in pleasure.

He chewed and swallowed, savoring the pie more than you’d ever seen a customer do before.

Finally he opened his eyes and looked at you once more. “That’s the best damn apple pie I’ve ever tasted,” he said, and you were unprepared for the tingle in your stomach that hearing his low voice for the first time caused.

“Of course,” he continued as he put a bite of the chocolate pie on his fork, “It could just be because it was baked by the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You blushed at the compliment and allowed the man to usher the two of you to sit at the table by the door.

“Thank you…” you replied, fishing for a name.

“Dean,” he replied, digging in to the pecan pie now. “My name’s Dean.”

You smiled before leaning forward to accept the offered bite of pecan pie, Dean’s eyes watching the fork disappear between your lips as closely as you had watched him before. He had barely pulled the fork away before he was leaning forward as well, catching your lips in a sweet, sugary kiss.


End file.
